Thirty Minute Love Affair
by Rabblocked
Summary: What if Sherlock had responded to The Womans texts? When it all gets too much and Sherlock flies to Cairo to meet her, he expects a simple dinner but how could he expect something so straightforward when it comes to her? Love, loss and Irene's past all play a part in their future and ultimately, their lives.
1. Let's Have Dinner

"I'm in Egypt, talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let's have dinner. IA". Irene sent the text and looked back up at the man from across the table, her chin resting in her hand and her leg twitching slightly as she smiled sweetly and faked laughter. God, he really was an idiot, as were most of her clients. Stupid, weak, people. But most submissives were. She sighed softly and continued to act as though she was enjoying herself, imagining what she would buy with the money she got from this. A new dress probably. Her mind was brought back to the text she had just sent and she wondered what Sherlock was doing. She didn't really expect a response. He never replied. Still, a girl could dream.

Sherlock sighed as he continued to listen to John drone on about his latest girlfriend. Jenna, or was it Jeanette? He wasn't sure and couldn't be bothered to ask. He nodded as John went on, doing his best to appear interested and supportive. He gave him a weak smile as his friend wrinkled his brow in frustration. Apparently she was having trouble dealing with how much time he spent with Sherlock. He suddenly heard his phone moan, jumping slightly, he slid his hand in his trouser pocket and took it out slowly.

John paused, and looked up at him, a knowing expression on his face. "The Woman?" He asked, not needing an answer.

Sherlock glanced at him and nodded. He read her text and looked out of the window, pondering over his response.

"Well? What does she want? Dinner?" John intrigued, his curiosity mounting.

Sherlock didn't answer, instead he got up quickly and crossed to his room. "I'll be gone for a few days John, if you need me, text. And give Jenn-Jeanette my regards." He winked before walking into the room and shutting the door quickly.

John smiled to himself. She really had a hold on the man. And they had only met once. He chuckled to himself, "Love. What a funny thing." He thought.

Irene glanced up as, thankfully, the client was done with his dinner. 'Thank God,' she thought to herself. She would no longer have to endure any more of his horrific conversation. They stood up and exited the restaurant, heading to his hotel where she had left her professional things. A small, disillusioned part of herself was disappointed that Sherlock didn't respond.

Meanwhile, Sherlock quickly packed a weekend bag, throwing The Hobbit in as well. He grabbed his coat and scarf, for the London weather, said a quick goodbye to John before heading out the door to hail a cab.

"Heathrow airport." He said, checking his phone to see if she had harassed him again. Nothing yet.

She looked at her phone one last time and sighed to herself, of course he would not reply. She was ashamed of herself for expecting a response. She set down her phone, walked into the bedroom and to the man tied to her bed.

"Have you been wicked Mr. Bennett?" She asked, cracking her whip and shutting the door.

He paid the cabbie, leapt out of the car and ran into Heathrow. He went to an open ticket machine, and looked up the flights to Cairo, booking the nearest one. He checked his watch, he had forty-five minutes. Cutting it close, but he figured he could make it. He pressed print and headed to security. Thirty minutes later he was seated in the first class section of a jumbo jet. He pulled out his book, sighed, and waited for the four hours and twenty-two minutes to pass.

About four hours later, Irene was hailing a cab from her clients hotel to her own, another successful day at work, she smirked to herself as she counted the massive wad of cash he had handed her. She sighed happily, this was what she lived to do.

Sherlock exited the plane quickly, shuffling past various passengers as he did so, not bothering to excuse himself. He walked through the airport and went outside, taking off his coat and scarf as he did so. He hailed a cab and gave the address for Cairo's most exclusive and luxurious hotel. He was certain this is where she would be staying, it being the safest and finest option in the city. He sat back in the taxi and looked out the window, planning what he would say when they met. A small smile playing on his lips as he thought of the perfect line.

After having paid and getting out of the cab, Sherlock looked around the dark, crowded streets before crossing to enter the building. He went to one of the attendants at the hotel desk, smiling sweetly. "Hello, I've just come from London. I'm here to meet my wife. "A...," He paused a moment, thinking of her possible alias, before smiling to himself, "A...Mrs Holmes. However, the silly girl forgot to give me the room number. May I have a key as well?" He asked pleasantly, hoping he would believe him.

The clerk behind the desk read through the names on the list. "Ah, yes, we have a Mrs Holmes. Can you give me her first name? Just to make sure." He said with a smile.

"Irene." He answered quickly.

The clerk nodded. "Mrs Irene Holmes." He fished behind him for a second key to the room. "Here you are Mr Holmes, enjoy your stay." He said with a smile.

Sherlock held back a small grin as he heard the fictional name being spoken aloud, before quickly swallowing it down. He nodded and thanked the man, taking the key and heading to the lift. He glanced at the key card and rolled his eyes, "Room 221." Clearly an intended and requested choice.

He got to the floor, and went down the hallway, finally stopping as he found her room. He listened for a moment, wanting to see if she was in. Silence. He swiped the card and let himself in. His eyes scanned the luxurious room as he threw off his coat and scarf, along with his bag on a nearby chair. He took out his book before crossing to the bed, throwing himself on it as he prepared to wait. This was getting rather fun.

Irene stepped out of the cab and headed into the hotel. She went into the lift and got out on the second floor, walking to her door before swiping the card and stepping inside. She put her bag on the floor and shut the door before turning to face into the room. She froze when she saw none other than Sherlock Holmes reading on her bed.

Sherlocked marked his place and closed the book slowly before glancing up at her, a sardonic smile at his lips, "So Mrs Holmes, shall we have dinner?" He asked lowly.


	2. Shall We Begin?

Irene's eyes widened before she regained her composure. She leisurely leaned against the door. "Mr Holmes, what a pleasant surprise. I see you figured out my alias." She smirked.

He got up off the bed calmly and slowly crossed towards her, "It wasn't hard. You really should try to be less...sentimental...Miss Adler. Mrs Holmes and Room 221. If I didn't know better I'd say you were smitten with me."

"I went for exactly would others wouldn't expect. Who would expect the heartless dominatrix to be so sentimental? Perfect disguise. I even got a wedding ring." She held up her left hand with a smirk.

He arched a brow, a glint in his eye, "No matter how hard you try a disguise is always a self portrait." He quoted, "Something you'd like to tell me?"

"Yes. Will you marry me, Mr Holmes?" She asked in a serious manner before bursting out laughing. "Yeah. Right."

Sherlock scoffed, "My thoughts exactly."

She rolled her eyes slightly and walked into the room properly, walking to a plush armchair and sitting down. "You know, most people just text to accept dinner. Not many people fly to a different continent. I admire your enthusiasm." She winked.

He looked down, caught. "I was bored." He replied, desperate for an answer.

"So there's nothing of interest in London? Or even England?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I could ask the same thing of Cairo." He countered. "Texting me to jump on a plane? Someone's desperate, it seems."

She rolled her eyes slightly. "I was stuck at dinner, I was mostly restricted when it came to... distractions. I noticed the ring on my finger, thought I'd text you. Wondered if I'd finally get a reply." She told him.

He took a step forward eyeing her, "A somewhat unimpressive reply, but I'll let you have it." He began, "And don't expect me to reply. It won't happen."

"Oh, but it seems I get something so much better." She countered. "Can I expect a personal appearance everytime I text you?" She asked with a smirk.

"It depends on how bored I am. You got lucky this time." He answered.

"Nice to know that I interest you." She winked at him.

"A trivial distraction to be sure." He retorted.

She clutched at her chest in a dramatic fashion. "Ouch. I'm wounded." She joked with a small pout.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Honestly." He paused a moment, "So what are you doing here?" He asked quickly.

"I had a client. Plus there's some... business I had to attend to here." She said vaguely. "What are you doing here?" She asked with a smirk.

He narrowed his eyes, "Stop it."

"Stop what?" She asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't play coy, it doesn't work." He said darkly, taking another step towards her.

"Oh, honey. I don't do coy." She said, standing up almost challengingly.

He smirked, "You know it's funny, I couldn't read you at all when we first met, but you are awfully transparent at the moment."

She took a step forward so they were almost chest to chest. "Go ahead. Read me. But bare in mind that this could all be a front. How do you know that what you think is how I feel? You know nothing about me. You've met me once and like you said, you couldn't read me. So go ahead, I'd be interested to see what deductions you make." She said coldly.

He stared at her, his eyes locked with hers. "I'd rather keep them to myself, thank you." He answered finally.

"Let me guess...nothing again?" She smirked before taking a step away from him and walking to the liquor cabinet.

He remained silent, wondering what she was up to. "Nightcap?" He asked after a pause.

She took his silence as an affirmation. She smirked as she pulled out a whiskey bottle. "Yes, I've had a rather...rigorous day of work." She smirked, pulling out two glasses.

He crossed to the nearby sofa and sat down. "I see. And please, don't bother. I'm not a big drinker."

"You might change your mind." She said, walking to sit back down in the armchair. She poured out to glasses and left his on the table.

He eyed it a moment before hesitantly picking it up and taking a sip. He grimaced, slightly. "Isn't brown liquor a man's beverage?" He asked her.

"Sexism, Mr Holmes, is a terrible thing." She said darkly, downing the glass. "Since when have I not done anything because it's seen as not what a woman would do?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock took another sip. "Fine. I'll give you that one."

"Sherlock Holmes, conceding. I never thought I'd see the day." She smirked, pouring out another glass.

"You know for only having met me once you're awfully familiar." He started, sipping his drink, before turning towards her to question, "So what 'business' do you have here?"

"I can read you easier than you can read me." She smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "And it's personal business."

"You do love to be ambiguous. However, it's getting rather boring. Tell me." He snapped.

"If you're bored then go back to England." She suggested.

"For God's sake, Miss Adler, just tell me." He half yelled.

"God, you have a short temper." She sighed, setting her drink down. "I'm here to get something that belongs to me."

"What?" He pressed.

"A...personal belonging. It has sentimental value." She told him.

"You and sentiment." He scoffed.

She glared at him. "And you wonder why I didn't tell you." She spat.

"What sort of belonging?" He questioned, returning to the subject at hand.

"A pearl necklace." She said before adding somewhat quietly. "It belonged to my mother."

"And what's it doing in Cairo?" He asked, taking another sip.

"A past client of mine has it." She said, taking a deep drink.

"I see. And how do you plan to get it." He asked.

"Bit of thievery, mild assault, and possible fraud." She smirked.

"Well, at least you have a plan." He remarked, finishing his drink.

"As long as I don't get caught and executed. Should work out." She said nonchalantly.

He raised his eyebrows, "I really don't want to have to come and be your 'knight in shining armor,' so please, try and avoid that." He replied.

"Nice to know you'd be there if I needed you. How...Sentimental." She winked.

He rolled his eyes, "Hardly."

"Just leave me to die then." She shrugged, comfortable enough in her skills.

"Would you please stop talking about your death. It's ridiculous and irrelevant." He snapped, suddenly, anger rising in him suddenly.

"I won't die. Don't worry." She told him, wondering what his problem was.

He narrowed his eyes, "Glad to hear." He cleared his throat and stood up, crossing to the window. "So, how are we supposed to get this object back?" He asked calmly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "We?"

"I'm not going to let you go alone." He hissed.

"And why not?" She asked intently.

"Because it's dangerous and you're overconfident." He replied simply.

"Overconfident." She scoffed. "I have reason to be. And trust me, Mr Holmes, I'm used to danger."

He rolled his eyes, "Still, I came all the way out here, I'm not about to let you have all the fun and adventure."

"Fine. You can come. Just, don't get yourself killed. Or do. Whatever." She muttered, crossing her legs.

He sighed, "I'm rather good in these sorts of situations, I don't need your fussing."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Anyway." She said, swiftly changing the subject. "There's a ball."

He quirked his eyebrow, "And?"

"And apparently, we're going to it." She said with a smirk.

"So, I'm your date, then?" He asked a small glint in his eye.

"Well actually, if you're coming then it's probably better that I'm your date." She corrected.

"And who would have escorted you otherwise?" He inquired.

"A willing client." She said offhandedly, pouring herself another whiskey.

He glared at her before looking away, "Well, lucky you."

She downed her drink before standing up and walking over to him. "Looks like I'll have you to take me instead." She said with a grin.

He swallowed, glancing down at her. She was far too close for his liking. "So it would seem." He replied slowly.

"We should probably come up with our aliases." She pointed out, leaning against the window a few inches from him.

He eyed her before replying, "And what did you have in mind?"

"Well your names on the ticket. "A Mr Charles Davies. Nice man. He's unable to attend." She said vaguely. "And I will be your plus one, A Miss Clara McCarthy. A ballet dancer and your date for the evening." She grinned.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he forced it down. "I see. And what are we to each other? I need a bit of character background, if you don't mind." The repressed actor in him coming out.

"Your choice. Anything from first date to married couple." She said with a shrug. "You can choose."

He rolled his eyes, "First date is too...indifferent. As for being married, well, that's a laugh. Let's go with being in a committed relationship." He shuddered slightly at the thought, whether from disgust or keen interest, he knew not.

"Oh God, me and you in a committed relationship. That's hilarious." She chuckled, leaning her head back on the cold glass. "Could work though, if you can pretend to love me." She said challengingly.

He took a step forward, "Are you asking for an audition, Miss Adler?" He questioned her darkly.

She looked up at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Perhaps. I'm putting my life in your hands here, I need to know that you'll be convincing." She challenged.

He gazed at her, several ideas running through his head. He took another slow step to her, before bringing his hand to her hip. "And how should I do that?" He asked her lowly.

"I don't know." She said, eyeing his hand and standing up properly. "It's your audition. Impress me. I can't spend the entire evening watching my own back and telling you how to act."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes before suddenly pulling her towards him fiercely. He brought his head down to whisper darkly in her ear, "Well, shall we begin?"


	3. Welcome Aboard

He then brought his lips to her jawline, nipping it gently.

She closed her eyes momentarily before opening them again. She sighed, feigning disinterest. "Is that all you've got?"

He growled lowly before placing his other hand on her hip and grinding her against him. He took his mouth and brought it to her earlobe, biting it.

She concentrated on her breathing, refusing to let it hitch and give him the ammunition. "I suppose it'll do." She said, seemingly bored.

Anger flared up in him. He wasn't about to let her win, especially at her own game. He leaned down slightly before slipping his hand under her dress and running it up her inner thigh. He resisted moaning as he felt her stockings and garters, willing himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He brought his hand up until he was almost at her apex, pausing to gauge her reaction.

Irene gritted her teeth with an almost audible snap as his actions took her completely off guard. She stared up at him, her gaze challenging. "Go on then." She said darkly, not thinking for even a second that he'd take it further than that.

He searched her eyes, glaring, before swallowing slightly. Without thinking about it any further he took the plunge and quickly moved his hand to her grip her mound. He closed his eyes briefly, even through her knickers he could feel how soft and warm she was. He opened them quickly to see her reaction.

She couldn't quell her reaction this time, she inhaled a small shaky gasp as she felt his cool fingers on her through her knickers. "Fuck." She thought.

He smirked slightly, before rubbing her ever so briefly. He then took his hand away and took a step back. "Well?" He asked, matter-of-factly.

She swallowed as he rubbed her before regaining her composure as he stepped away. "You passed the audition. Welcome aboard." She said sardonically.

He glared at her before returning his focus out the window, "Dress code?" He asked briefly.

"Black tie and tux for you. Extremely elegant and expensive dress for me. Masquerade ball as well. Should come in handy for me." She said, leaning against the window once more.

He nodded, "I see. And where are we to get such attire?"

"Theres a few shops nearby. I know where they are. Should come in handy." She told him.

He groaned, "Are we to go shopping then?"

"Looks like it, yes." She grinned. "Problem?"

He rolled his eyes, "Right, what every man wants to do. Shop."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mr Holmes. Frankly, I'm surprised at you." She smirked.

He sighed, "Fine, let's go." He said grabbing his wallet from his coat and crossing towards her.

She nodded. "Could get pricey, I expect you to get a good tux." She said, walking over to the door.

"I assure you, I have the funds." He replied, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Right." She muttered as she walked out of the room, not checking to see if he was behind her.

He followed, feeling like a dog tagging after its trailer, though a small smile graced his lips. He was glad she had her back to him.


End file.
